Opening Act
by Meatball42
Summary: Mary is determined to avoid Marshall's invitation to the opera.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I know absolutely nothing about opera. Any information in this story was found on Wikipedia, so if it's wrong, you can most definitely blame me.

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She probably thought he couldn't hear her, getting ready to leave. She always did the same thing at the end of the day: she closed the last file and plopped it on the huge 'Out' pile, let out a relieved sigh when she saw there was no more paperwork, chugs the last of her coffee and throws it in the trash can by her desk. Then, she'd always yell something along the lines of 'Hey dumbass, you done yet?' despite the fact that he was almost always done before her. And the fact that the office was always so empty by that point that he could've heard her if she whispered.

Today, though, she was trying to be quiet. The clang of the coffee cup in the trash can was muffled, and instead of a yell to jolt him from what appeared to be deep sleep, Mary carefully pulled her few personal items from her desk drawers and was quietly walking across the bullpen to the door when he finally spoke.

"You're not trying to sneak out early avoid my kind invitation, are you?"

Mary sighed. She'd hoped to be gone before her woke up. "I don't care how many people you had to threaten, bribe or blackmail to get those tickets, Marshall, I'm not going to the opera with you!"

"Come on!" Marshall remembered his arguments from earlier today, when he'd sprung the invitation on her as she was comfortably seated in her chair. She was still angry with him, but it wasn't his fault that she couldn't swallow her coffee _before_ she tried to yell.

"Opera is a classical wonder! You haven't lived until you've heard the finale of _Simon Boccanegra_, or watched the Wolf's Glen scene of _Der Freischütz_!" Marshall spoke with passion about two of his favorite operas, trying to convey his love for the freedom and beauty of the art to his uncultured colleague.

Mary stared at him with confusion and disgust. "What language is that, Greek?" She asked disbelievingly. Her partner knew a lot of useless junk, but she didn't know he could speak Greek!

Marshall sighed. "It's German. And it has a very distinctive sound."

Mary snorted. "If by distinctive you mean exactly like a rhino with a chest cold." She pulled on her thick coat: Albuquerque may be in New Mexico, but at night temperatures dropped like the Times Square Ball on New Year's Eve.

"Wait!" Marshall scrambled to pull his stuff out of various drawers. "I'm coming too, and we're going to the opera!" He tried to stand, and found himself unable to. Marshall tried to stand again, more slowly, and spluttered "What the-" when he found his clothes attached to his chair.

"Yeah, I decided I really didn't want to go to the opera." She put on a sweet voice and mimed talking on a phone. "Hi, I'm Mrs. Mann, you can just cancel those tickets and send the refund to the credit card. We decided to stay in tonight!"

Marshall gasped and lunged for his phone, only to find it wasn't on his desk, but unplugged and tossed on the floor in the middle of the bullpen. He tugged at his pants, trying to see if they would come free of the chair.

"I wouldn't try that," Mary warned. "That staple machine is _really_ good!" She said, motioning her hands to emphasize _exactly_ how great the stapler was.

Marshall internally punched himself. _Never fall asleep when Mary's angry!_

"See you tomorrow!" Mary waved exaggeratedly as she exited the office, leaving Marshall attached to his chair in an empty building.

Marshall sighed. He could get out of this, but there was no way he would be able to make it to_ Don Giovanni_, which had just premiered at the Santa Fe Opera House.

_Damn stapler!_ Marshall thought angrily. The he smiled as he planned his revenge.

_This isn't over!_

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To be continued…

**I have some plans for Marshall's revenge, but if anyone has any suggestions, I might change my mind…**

**(sorry about the repost- a very stupid mistake was pointed out to me, and I just couldn't let it go)**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Once again, all opera info is from Wikipedia, let's just pretend it's all perfect. Unless it is. In that case, I never spoke.**

**Eleanor is in this story, which sets this in the second season. However, there are no spoilers, unless you didn't know about the new office manager. In which case, you should play a bit of catch-up with the episodes. Just some friendly advice.**

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Like a wounded animal, Mary charged through the doors of the office and threw her coat over her chair forcefully. She all but ran towards the coffee machine, hurriedly filling one of the paper cups that were always stacked beside it. Mary clutched at the coffeepot and poured the caffeinated liquid into her cup with a speed that had random drops splashing over the sides. She tried to pour in creamer from the carton labeled 'Mary's,' but nothing came out. Despite the speed at which the cup was being filled, it was only half full when Mary's impatience overcame her control, and with a muttered **"**Hell with this," she tipped her cup almost forty-five degrees, taking a huge gulp.

Marshall smiledat her.

"Ack!" Mary choked and spluttered for an instant before spitting her mouthful of coffee all over the clean linoleum. "What the hell!" She shouted loud enough for Stan to hear despite his closed door.

Marshall could see his boss' face through the windows of his office. Stan's face was screwed up almost as though he was expecting an explosion as he craned his neck to see what had upset his Inspector; he sighed as he took in the scene outside his door.

Mary whirled to face her partner with the bearing of an angry lion. "Marshall! What in God's name is this disgusting sludge? And who the hell finished my creamer?"

Marshall held up his own cup in a 'Cheers!' motion. "It's Italian coffee," he explained the way he always told her some new trivia. "Since I missed _Don Giovanni _last night, I thought this would make up for it." Marshall grinned and took a comfortable sip of his coffee. "And, it turns out, your creamer goes really well with my lavaza coffee. Where did you get it?"

Mary stared at him in disbelief**—**she caught the underlying message. "Is this your lame-ass version of revenge? Denying me my coffee?"

Marshall shrugged innocently. "I just felt like a change was in order."

It was in the middle of their impromptu face-off that Eleanor happened to come in from the other end of the office. Upon seeing the dark liquid splattered on the floor she threw her hands up in the air, gesturing a file at the mess. "This is the second day in a row that you've gotten coffee all over the floor! I'm starting to think you have a grudge against the janitors."

Mary turned toward the office manager. Her reply was filled with loathing, but Marshall recognized the excited glint that always came to her eyes when she was arguing. "Come on, Eleanor, you're just pissed because the coffee covers up the stink of the hundred or so noxious air fresheners you snuck into this place. I think the scent of coffee is better. Doesn't it just ring 'Good Morning'?"

"Well, maybe if the office didn't always smell like that fried food you insist on eating almost every day, there wouldn't be a need for air fresheners."

Eleanor smiled sweetly at Mary, then, not waiting for a response, picked up her desk phone and dialed the number she had long since memorized. "Hi, Maintenance? This is Eleanor; we've had another coffee spill up here… Yes, it's the _same_ person." Eleanor glared at Mary as she spoke. Mary rolled her eyes and motioned with her arms, clearly saying 'What?' before turning to Marshall.

When she saw the grin that he hadn't been able to squelch Mary's hackles came back up. "Don't think I'm forgetting about this, Marshall. I don't care if you missed your stupid play: I _need_ my coffee in the mornings."

Marshall sat up straight when his partner insulted one of his favorite pastimes. "It's not a play!" He insisted, before settling into his usual habit of educating his partner, whose classical education was, in his opinion, sadly lacking. "The art of the opera combines theatre, vocals and instrumentals. It has been around since the end of the sixteenth century and-"

"God, Marshall," Mary clutched her head and she plopped down in her desk chair. "I don't need one of your lectures today. It's bad enough I've got to go without coffee, but if you start lecturing me about the goddamned Mozart thing you missed last night I swear on my life you will never see another because I will shoot you where you stand."

"I'm sitting, actually," Marshall sniped. "And it wasn't Mozart, it was _Don Giovanni_." He pronounced the name of the opera with an Italian accent.

"Honestly, Marshall, you're about as Italian as Frank Sinatra, so why don't you shut up about your hurt feelings, grow a pair and go buy me some real coffee!**"** Mary said confrontationally as she grabbed her coat and charged to the door.

"I have to deal with my witness, and by the time I get back there had better be an iced mocha latte sitting on my desk or someone's getting hurt!" With that, Mary stormed out of the office.

"What just happened?" Marshall turned away from the swinging door he had been watching to see Stan McQueen, one of the toughest US Marshals in the history of the service, sticking his head out of his office as though a bullet was going to fly by any second. He looked at Eleanor, now typing on her computer, then to Marshall, who simply smiled.

"Just another morning with Mary."

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**Thanks loads to The Lion's Only Lamb, without whom this story would be nowhere near as rockin'! This is my first time with a beta, and it turns out she can write Eleanor better than I can! Thanks for the help!**

**This is the end, unless anybody sends me any cool ideas to continue it.**

**After reading two chapters of awesome practical jokes, how's about sending a teensy little review? Even 'Hilarious!' or 'No way that would happen!' are much appreciated!**


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